


Backpfeifengesicht

by CharlieBravoWhiskey



Series: Lexicon:  A Study in Linguistics [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:05:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieBravoWhiskey/pseuds/CharlieBravoWhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or Five Times Anderson was Punched In the Face and One Time He Received Two Punches</p><p>Or Anderson bashing.</p><p>Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backpfeifengesicht

**Author's Note:**

> As always nothing is mine, Brit-picked, or beta read. If something looks off, please let me know, gently.
> 
> By the way, my apologies if everyone seems a bit...off. I wrote this on the fly while in between editing sessions of the third chapter of my Sherlock western.

Sally Donovan wasn’t having a very good day.  Three extremely tough and emotional cases; one neighbor having a domestic row (that spilled out onto the streets); a car with a flat tire; a boss with an even shorter temper; Anderson’s wife suddenly arriving home early; and now this - the great Sherlock Holmes telling the entire world her very private business regarding her and a married man.

She knew, just _knew_ that she shouldn’t let that great giant git, Sherlock Holmes get under her skin.  Sally also knew that she shouldn’t be dallying with a married man, but she was a grown woman and could make her own mistakes just fine, thankyouverymuch.  

But Holmes’ observation about her and Anderson was just the last straw.   _How does even know?_  Sally was angrily lost in her own thoughts as she watched Sherlock and his…friend? colleague?  walk into the house.  She shook her head and straightened her shoulders, trying to let go of the anger.  Unfortunately, there was time enough later to think about Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his _observations_.  

Sally had a job to do.

“Who do you think told him?”  Anderson asked her, as he pulled her to the side of the house, his grip fearful and hard on her arm.  Sally sighed as she noticed several of her colleagues laughing and nudging each other.  She glared viciously at them.  

“Does it matter?”  Sally said angrily and pulled her arm from his grip. She scowled at him.   _Really, I do need to stop seeing him.  If he cheats on his wife with me what’s stopping him from cheating on me?_

“It matters to me,” Anderson hissed at her and made to grab her arm again.

 _This is ridiculous._ Sally narrowed her eyes at him, took a step back, and stopped herself before she hit him hard.  “It.Doesn’t.Matter,” Sally repeated, drawing out each word.  She (barely) softened her tone before saying, “You better get inside before he _contaminates_ your crime scene.”  Sally felt the uncontrollable urge to pummel Anderson.  

Anderson’s eyes widened before he nodded at her and stomped into the abandoned house leaving her outside.

Sally grimaced, her mouth in a tight line and went about her job.   _Men.  Stupid, stupid men._

Thirty minutes later, Sherlock Holmes swept out of the house, the limping Doctor Watson nowhere in sight.  He gazed around the outside and found Sally finishing her interviews.  He stalked towards her and as he neared, Sally stiffened ready for another fight.

“You’re better than him and you deserve more than a serial philander,” Sherlock said solemnly.  “Don’t forget  it.  You’re more intelligent than him, but then again that isn’t hard to do.  You’re moderately attractive and with the proper training can be an adequate detective.”

Sally’s eyes narrowed at the man in front of her, not quite knowing what to say.  Before she could answer him, he abruptly turned away from her.

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock said over his shoulder and quickly walked away from Sally.  She stared after him, her mouth slightly ajar.   _Did Sherlock Holmes just tell me I was **better** than Anderson?  And that I was “moderately attractive”?  _ She shook her head, dismissing the madman, his utterings and turned her head as she heard Dr. Watson limping down the stairs.   _God,I need a fucking drink._

“He’s gone,” Sally said to Dr. Watson, answering the unasked question.  She hid a smile, feeling vindictive as the other man looked around him in bewilderment.   _Tsk, Donovan.  What would your mother say?  Help the poor man._

“Who?  Sherlock Holmes?” he said, sputtering.  Dr. Watson started to turn an alarming shade of red.

“Yeah, he just took off.  He does that,” she said.  Sally suddenly felt sorry for the other man.

“Is he coming back?” Dr. Watson asked.

“Didn’t look like it,” she said.  Sally was about to offer him a ride home when she caught Anderson looking at her out of the corner of her eye.  He was waving politely at her, just on the cusp of turning urgent.

“Right,” the other man said, seeing Anderson as well.  Dr. Watson frowned at him before looking around.  “Right.  Yes.”   _No, just lost,_ Sally thought.  “Sorry, where am I?”

"Brixton,” she said.  Anderson was beginning to wave frantically at her.

“Right, er do you know where I could get a cab?  It’s just well,” he said trailing off and looking at his stick, “my leg.”

“Try the main road,” she said and glanced at Anderson.  Anderson was walking towards her.  Sally shook her head distracted at Anderson and pulled the police tape up for Dr. Watson to duck under.

“Thanks,” he said and slowly began walking away.

“But you’re not his friend,” Sally said, trying once again to corral her thoughts.  “He doesn’t _have_ friends.  So who _are_ you?”

John took a beat before answering.  “I’m nobody.  I just met him.”

Sally couldn’t believe she was about to give a complete stranger some unwanted advice.  “Okay, bit of advice then, stay away from that guy.”

John wrinkled his forehead in concern.  “Why?”

“You know why he’s here?  He’s not paid or anything.  He likes it.  He gets off on it.  The weirder the crime, the more he gets off.  And you know what?  One day just showing up won’t be enough.  One day we’ll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there,” she said vehemently.  Sally didn’t care if Sherlock Bloody Holmes just gave her a small vote of confidence.  She had seen the man in action too many times, seen how callous and uncaring he was towards other people.  Sally was compelled to warn this kindly (but tired looking) doctor some good advice. 

John started at her for a few seconds before snapping back to himself.  “Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a psychopath and psychopaths get bored,” she said.  John Watson stared at her for a few more seconds.  It was obvious that he wanted to say something in defense of the man.  But before he could Lestrade called her from the house. 

“Donovan!” he said, his hand resting on the entrance.

“Coming!” Sally replied.  “Stay away from Sherlock Holmes,” she said and walked towards her boss.

“What was that all about,” Anderson said before she reached Lestrade.  

Sally looked at the other man closely, weighing her options.   _What would your mother say?_  Sally Donovan just smiled frostily at Anderson’s stutterings and came to a quick decision.

“We’re done,” she said and punched Anderson viciously in the face.

**Author's Note:**

> Backpfeifengesicht (German): A face badly in need of a fist.
> 
> Being a lover of unusual words, I was reading [this article](http://mentalfloss.com/article/50698/38-wonderful-foreign-words-we-could-use-english) and backpfeifengesicht just wouldn't let me go. I started thinking some more and then...well, you know...
> 
> Oh, in my haste to post this, I forgot to credit where I got some of the dialogue from: [](http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43298.html'>Ariane%20DeVere</a>.%20%20Thank%20you.)


End file.
